Black and Blue
by oilspeckledambereyes
Summary: Why must everyone pick on Charlotte Williams? All she wants is to be left alone - hard to do when she is beaten wherever she goes. But one day after her normal bullies fleeing before they could harm her, she discovers she is anything but normal.


Being pushed and shoved around was nothing new to me. Black, blue and purple bruises basically formed on my body since they were just so used to getting them. Some thought it was caused by a disease. Others thought I was just deformed. But the truth was much, much more _horrid_.

I was bullied.

You might say that being bullied is just part of your childhood; everyone goes through it at least once in their life, and I believe them - It's happened to me enough. My case, though, is a bit more . . . tragic than others, I suppose. The 'children' you would think I'd be talking about was actually my father. I don't think he means it. Ever since Mother died six months ago, he's been on his toes about anything. I get a B on a test, he yells and says, "You could have done better!" Only that gets me a smack on the back of the head, but not just any other little 'you dope' smack. I get a real, head-on pounding - not hard enough that I've bled yet, though.

Little 'misunderstandings' like that just tip him off. I've now learned to not show or tell him the things that would really get me beaten. For example, the other bruises and cuts I get regularly at school _because_ of the beating done by my dad. You would think I'd get even the slightest amount of sympathy from my friends - the ones who stuck around long enough for this loser to be able to trust - but of course not! No, I get bullied at school now, as well, all _because_ I'm a "wimp that can't take her dad." You would think I know by now that anyone I tell just ends up fleeing, obviously afraid to hang out at my house or even the bruises constantly made them fret about me - It was "too much pressure on their part." Maybe they thought he would hit them.

My father wouldn't do that though. He loves me, he truly does; Father is just going through a tad rough spot right now. Plus, he cares enough to know that if I or anyone else mentioned our little 'accidents' then my father would _permanently_ be removed from my life. It's not like I have anybody else, so I might as well endure the torture and be as happy as I can.

I left school with my obnoxious, neon yellow rain coat on, that my mother's parents got me for Chanukah one year, and dodged into the nearest alleyway - my normal route when I walk home. It shipped all the way from New Zealand. Mother explained that even if I didn't particularly _like_ it, I should still be thankful that Grandmother was able to take such time and pride in making me it. I always wondered why she chose a bright yellow, but she passed away before I had the chance to ask. Considering they were my mother's parents, I haven't heard from Grandfather or Grandmother for many years - even if Mother died only half a year ago.

Creeping in the shadows of the buildings, I snuck around corner by corner just to stay out of sight from those nasty Gits. "Aye! There she is!" One of them yelled, pointing at me with his big, meaty index finger. I instantly ditched the coat and broke into a fast jog. I learned throughout these months my running speed was faster than normal kids. My feet just barely skidded along the gravel as I sprinted into the wind. The gravel below my fading soles of my shoes got more of a chance of me slipping on the little pieces of rock; and darker as rain started to pour down. I sighed as I broke into a run. _It can't be that bad to run if it's raining. Father wont notice the sweat - if any._ I thought to myself, my breath keeping a soothing pace.

Looking behind me, which of course I shouldn't have done, I saw all five of the normal ones chasing after me, like every other day. The far left was Nigel Woo, a tall asian boy with almond brown eyes and charcoal black hair, who was the age of thirteen and held back_ twice_ - once for terrible grades and another for so many suspensions and not completing [or attending, for that matter] summer school.

Next to Nigel was Alex Young. He was average height, about five foot six or so, light brown hair that has wave to it, and bright blue eyes. When you first meet Alex, he jokes around and teases playfully. Then you realize that all that 'playful teasing' was him being serious. Alex can't lie, even if his life depended on it. If he tries, he blushes a little bit, twiddles his thumbs and sways on the tips of his toes. It's really quite obvious. Alex doesn't exactly have anything against me, but he just goes by what Reece says.

On the other side of Reece would be Nicholas Hart, the infamous conman Christopher Hart's son. He's a spitting image of his father - the same midnight blue-black hair with way too much hair gel, similar eyes and the exact same crooked smile. Nicholas's eyes are a grey, purple-ish color. No one really knows how that came to be, neither his parents, but his mother used the word 'unique' to describe this occurrence. Nicholas isn't so much like his father personality-wise, though. He's somehow different than the others. He knows when it goes too far, but he doesn't do actions to actually stop. He isn't all bad, but Nicholas is so dimwitted, it's almost as if his brain can only handle one emotion at a time. Jealousy. Anger. Happiness. Fear. Love. Revenge.

The far right spot was held by Dominic Griffiths, an awkward boy who moved from Ireland to London, England around age eight, three years ago. His hair is constantly kept at an unflattering buzz cut, due to the farm work Dominic completes after school. The only thing that let Reece accept him into 'the group' were his incredible diamond blue eyes. Although Nicholas and Alex both have beautiful eyes, there's just something...different about Dominic's.

Reece McFarland is the one who started it all. The disgusting Git who watched me oh-so-carefully for any mistake I made only to make something _much_ bigger out of it. So I was a _little needy_ when my Dad was constantly chugging down bottle after bottle of cold, hard alcohol; when my mom was just diagnosed with Cancer. From that, Reece turned me into a pathetic girl to a stalking dipshit. He knew my name, not my story, yet he judged me entirely. Thanks to that unbelievable twit, my life in all was basically screwed over by some desperate-for-attention Git. The worse part about him probably had to be his looks. Reece was blessed with this unfair advantage - bright blonde with highlights of light, light brown and the most amazing emerald green eyes. Why does such unpleasant person to be around have to look so attractive? The logics just didn't add up correctly. Something had to go wrong _somewhere_ - clearly his personality.

_Oh, shit._ I almost said aloud, preventing myself because they would definitely pin me down for even the slightest word. "Why you not glad to see us, Charlotte?" They would say. "You don't like spending time with us? Well, that just won't do." They would taunt me, you see, and never let me live it down - even if it is simply just 'oh shit.'

I knew I was going to slip. I knew they were going to catch me and hit me, it was only a matter of time, like every other day. This was nothing new. I tripped on most likely loose gravel that sent me to the ground. Close enough to the side walk without being on it, I just barley hit my head on the curb - or so I thought. "Ouch. . ." I mumbled under my breath, being ever so careful that they don't hear me. My fingers gingerly stroked the ache where my the back of my head collided with the cement and even in the pouring rain, I could feel the warm, sticky blood slide down my fingers. I removed them and examined. It was bleeding enough to know that this will not be the only blood I shed tonight. "You little bitches!" I said, bringing out my American accent from my home country. "You see what you did!" Approaching them, I slid my hand behind my head and showed them my now red hand. I wasn't worrying about what they were going to do to me as I paced back and forth along the street, running my fingers through my wet hair. The pain went numb.

"Aye, we better get out of here, before someone sees!" Dominic yelled, trying hard to fit in. All of them listened and bolted down the street. I fell to the ground and cried. My arms were folded across my knees, my head buried in them. If only my arms were dirt and my head was being suffocated. If only...

My thoughts were interrupted by Nicholas, lightly kicking a pebble at my torn up shoes. "Are you alright?"

"Do I look alright?" I snapped rudely in response.

Sighing, he said, "I'm sorry you were hurt." I didn't dare look him in the eyes. For all I know, Reece or one of them could have put him up to this and be watching for the signal to jump me.

Alex popped out behind a corner of a far away street, "Aye! You! Nicholas, what are you doing, boy?"

Nicholas remained completely calm, knowing the concequences if to be seen "socializing with the enemy." Then, he spoke, "What else would I be doing besides throwing a few rocks at her? With luck she'll be gone the rest of the week due to an 'unknown head injury!'" I wondered if he really meant that. Alex just gave a minor shrug then went to catch up to the others.

I watched as Nicholas walked away. I knew he was different, but I never knew he actually _cared._ Interesting . . . I slowly got up, holding the sleeve of my soaking shirt on my bleeding head and started to walk home, wobbly. Not wobbling from the pain rather than that rare happening that I just faced, uneasy about the next one.

Father was sitting on the couch, feet up, nice and dry next to the fire, reading the newspaper. "Charlotte? My! You're dripping wet!" I began to walk over towards him, but he shook his finger and snapped at me for even thinking about walking onto our cream colored carpets with my mud-filled shoes. He had me take them off and walk over to the bathroom where I was to go in and ring out my shirt and pants over the sink. "Can't have water spots now, can we?" I know he has good intentions, but Father didn't even realize I was bleeding at the head.

The clock mounted on the wall next to the bathroom door read five on the spot. Father pressumed I went to the library for my studies, considering I do that every day after school. "I'm just going to skip dinner tonight. Big lunch. I'm really tired." I told him, already up half the stairs. Father didn't respond and I knew from the moment I stepped in the room that he had been drinking.

"Oh, Char?" He called up to me. I skipped down about three stairs and just looked at him. He stared back, stumbling around a little from all the booze. "You got a letter." Confused, I was snatching the letter from him while he was still finishing the sentence.

I carefully examined the envelope before opening. Reece's group may have sent me the world's thinnest bomb! Anything is possible with them. No return address was there. "Charlotte Williams. Apartment Four on Wallaby Lane. Open alone." I read in a hushed voice. Carefully flipping it over, I slid my finger under the flap and tore the envelope open. I pulled out a folded piece of paper and silently read it. Gasping, I left the letter on my bed and slammed my down as I stormed out.

"Dear, Charlotte Williams, we are pleased to inform you of your acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Here's your supply list for this coming school year. . ."


End file.
